


Operation Rookie

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Gen, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Once upon a time affair. Prompt: the first three sentences.It's late and Napoleon wants to go home but Thrush has other ideas





	Operation Rookie

A cold wind swirled around the street, causing the hunched figure of the despondent would-be agent to pull his collar up against the chill. A snowstorm had been forecast, but it couldn’t be allowed to interfere with the mission at hand. It was absolutely imperative for the UNCLE agent to be dead by midnight. That was the order from Central and he had to fulfil it if he wanted to be accepted in the operations section of Thrush. If he could get both partners it would add a feather to his cap… but so far, there had been no sign of either of them. The public entrance was closed and dark, like other businesses in the area. There must be another entrance.

He moved off and turning the corner walked along the block, past the little tailor’s shop until he came to the entrance to a garage. This seemed the most likely and also offered more protection from the wind. He hunkered down to wait. The night was silent and snow began to fall. There was no-one on the street and the only sign of life was a faint light down the ramp to the garage.

<><><> 

Napoleon stretched and yawned. “Have you finished that report yet?” he said.

Illya looked at him over his glasses. “Some time ago,” he said.

“What are you doing now? Why don’t we just go?”

“No-one’s stopping you. I’m busy.”

“What are you doing that’s so engrossing?”

“Trying to crack the code in a Thrush message that came through earlier.”

“At this time of night? Leave it till you’ve had a night’s sleep – come on.”

“No, it might be urgent. Just a minute – I’ve had an idea…” He bent his head again and starting scribbling as Napoleon came to look over his shoulder.

“Go away, Napoleon. I can’t work with someone breathing down my neck.”

“What’s that word there? It’s repeated there… and there.”

“Yes, I know. It starts with an R, I’m sure, and ends with an E. It seems to be a code word itself.”

“The name of an operation, maybe?”

“Could be. Yes.”

“How about ‘Rookie’?”

Illya stared at the text. “Operation Rookie…,” he muttered. “Could be… I think you’ve got it, Napoleon. But what does it mean?”

“What else have you got to go on?” Napoleon dragged a chair over and sat down beside his partner, all thoughts of going home forgotten.

“Only that it was sent earlier this evening to someone in the vicinity of this block.”

“Maybe he’s the rookie. Maybe he’s out there now, on a mission.”

Illya looked at him and then back at the print-out. “What do rookies have to do to get their wings,” he said, “but prove themselves by killing an UNCLE agent? Us, maybe.”

“It’s snowing out there. Shall we go find him before he freezes to death?”

“Do we care if he does?”

“Listen, chum, I want to go home and I want to _get_ home before he tries to gain his wings.”

“OK. Let’s go and see.”

“Put a hat on – the street lights will make your hair a beacon.”

Illya pulled a dark woollen hat down over his bright locks, pulled his coat collar up and followed him out.

<><><> 

The Thrush rookie stood up and stamped his frozen feet. It was approaching midnight. He blew into his frost-stiffened gloves and as he did so, a blow on his bent neck dropped him where he stood. “Quick, get him inside!”

They dragged their fallen foe back into the relative warmth of the garage.

“I don’t see why we can’t leave him.” said Illya.

“Little Bolshevik. Unnecessary cruelty is their prerogative, not ours. Besides, he might not be who we think he is, so it would be embarrassing. Let’s get him inside – handcuffs?”

 “Well, actually, he _is_ a Thrush agent. Look.” Illya produced not only some handcuffs but a badge that he had removed from under the man’s lapel.

“Well, that’s a relief. We might lose friends in the neighbourhood if we started attacking anyone for just being nearby.”

They dragged him through the doors into the headquarters building to be left in the cells under guard. The two men then returned to the garage.

“I guess there’ll be a minder waiting somewhere,” said Napoleon.

“I could keep watch,” Illya replied, “but it’s not _his_ job to kill us, so, if he did, it would look like the rookie passed the test – so he wouldn’t. Kill us, I mean,” he ended, a little confusingly.

“That’s unusually optimistic of you, my friend but they want us dead anyway. He might have seen us with his rookie so he’ll be waiting. Keep your head down and your eyes peeled.”

“I can’t do both, Napoleon,” said Illya and crept up the ramp like a shadow. From the protection of the doors at the top he scanned the surrounding buildings. To test his adversary, he stepped out for a moment. There was a shot and he leapt back as his hat went flying. Feeling blood trickling down his face, he mopped at it with a handkerchief. The bullet had grazed the side of his head and it was beginning to sting. He ran back down the ramp to where Napoleon was waiting.

“He’s out there but he missed me.”

“Not missed, my friend, just didn’t kill you. Are you OK?” said Napoleon, examining his partner’s scalp with gentle fingers.

“Of course. Ouch – get off! But I guess a band-aid might help.”

“I don’t suppose our Thrush man will mind too much if we keep him waiting,” said Napoleon and led him back inside headquarters to find some first aid.

The heavy steel doors had barely closed behind them when there was the sound of an explosion in the garage.

“Grenade? I suppose that means paperwork,” said Napoleon gloomily.

“What are _you_ worrying about? – I could start the report now,” said Illya, showing signs of wanting to escape the attentions of nurses.

Napoleon took him by the arm saying, “Oh, no, chum. We need to get you cleaned up,” and as agents came running, he quickly put them in the picture and left them to it.

<><> 

A short fire fight with the gunman had petered out – he had evidently retreated and gone away – and now the mess in the garage was being cleared up. There was broken glass everywhere: a number of cars had been damaged by the blast.

“Maybe we should stay the night," Napoleon said to his partner.

“I thought you wanted to get home.”

“Well, I did but I’m not fussy. Let’s talk to our Thrush rookie and find out how he knew where to be.”

“Good cop, bad cop?”

“You can be bad cop – you’re the one with a bandage.”

“No, you can. I’ll look pathetic – an unworthy target.”

“They all know you far too well for that – and you’re a natural. I’ll be good cop.”

Their muttered argument took them all the way to the cells until unwilling agreement was reached. Napoleon allowed Illya to enter the cell  first. He adopted a grim-faced and tough expression, instead of looking wounded and pathetic.

“Headache?” he said to the Thrush rookie, who was sitting holding his head. “That was just a gentle tap.”

The young man squinted up at him. “Pity she didn’t blow your head off.”

“She?” said Illya.

There was a sharp intake of breath and the young man squirmed.

“Angelique, I presume?”

“I’m saying nothing.”

“You weren’t meant to, were you? Boy, are you in trouble!”

At this point, Napoleon entered, smiling genially. “Everything under control?” he enquired.

“Well, he’s said how he knew where to be,” said his partner.

The Thrush agent growled, “She didn’t tell me where to be. She told me to work it out from the data we have on sightings. And I did.”

“She?” said Napoleon, ignoring this.

“It’s y – our old friend, Angelique.”

“That’ll be why the shot didn’t kill you,” said Napoleon, “she loves you, really,” and flinched slightly under Illya’s glare.

“No, it’ll be because _I_ was meant to kill you,” said the Thrush rookie dolefully. “I’ll have to try again …,” he stopped abruptly.

“When you get out of here?” Illya smiled a feline smile. “You won’t get a second chance, my friend. Thrush doesn’t forgive mistakes. When we give you back – which we will – it’ll be curtains for you.”

“That’s not true!” the rookie squeaked.

Napoleon took pity on him and said, “If you like, we’ll take care of you.”

“What?”

“I mean, look after you… not let them kill you.”

You might not, but _he_ will,” the rookie said, avoiding looking at the growling Russian.

“No, no, that’s not UNCLE’s way at all. It’s not even Illya’s.”

One glance at Illya’s face was enough to throw that hypothesis into doubt. The rookie gulped.

“Illya, don’t tease the guy.”

“How many more of you are participating in Operation Rookie?” Illya snapped.

“How did you know about…? Not saying.”

Illya bent over him snarling. “Talk!”

Napoleon drew his partner away and sat down beside the rookie. “Don’t mind him. He has a headache,” he said and ignoring a muttered Russian imprecation, he continued, “Listen, you’re obviously new to all this, so let me reassure you, we’ll try to keep you safe anyway, but it would be a friendly gesture to tell us.”

Glared at now from both sides, Napoleon sat at his ease, quite relaxed and confident of his ability to charm birds from the trees, rookies from Thrush, and even a partner from a rage. He had only to wait.

<><><><> 


End file.
